Fortitude
by tir-synni
Summary: In the end, all you can do is pick yourself up and walk forward. implied RoyEd, LingEd.


Title: Fortitude  
Series: FMA  
Pairing: Roy/Ed  
Warnings: H/C, manga spoilers, more h/c, angst, etc.

Fortitude

Leaning against the chill doorframe, Colonel Roy Mustang gazed into the dark room. One hand never left his side, heavily bandaged under the bedraggled uniform. The occasional nurse passed him, eyeing him thoughtfully but no more. No one disturbed him. It was for the best.

_I should get back to my room_, he mused, his eyes never moving. _Rest, recover. Start making plans_.

The Fuhrer, the homunculus Wrath, was dead. All of Amestris was now in an uproar. Now was his time to gain control of the situation. At last, the danger facing the military was fading.

Instead, he was standing in a hospital doorway, staring at someone who didn't even have the decency to look back.

He wished he could be angry at Edward Elric for that. But he wouldn't want anyone to see him crying, either.

Finally, Roy closed his eyes and turned away. Hawkeye had hidden Alphonse in her home, allowing him to recuperate without having to tell anyone any stories concerning his lack of armor. He'd go back to his hospital room, make a discreet call to her, and—

"You never did tell me how things worked out, bastard," Edward croaked, stopping him in his tracks. Exhaling, Roy turned around to meet red-rimmed, amber eyes. A part of Roy wanted to smile reassuringly at him, tell Edward that he did what he had to do.

Roy didn't bother. He simply entered the room and closed the door behind him.

"Everything was a success," he replied quietly. "Limited casualties on our side. Most of the traitors are either dead or facing trial."

Edward snorted and closed his eyes again. "How many of them are going to make it to court?"

Now some semblance of a smile came, but it was hard, not like the smile Roy had wished. "Very few."

Grunting, Edward tried to shift on the hard bed. Three steps carried Roy to his side, but he refrained from helping. Clamping his bandaged hands behind his back, Roy stared out the window. "Congratulations on your success, by the way," Roy continued. "I expect you're going to have quite a crowd of well-wishers tomorrow. We're trying to keep Armstrong busy for several more days, though. We thought you might need the recovery time."

Edward simply grunted again, the moonlight streaming through the large window making him appear more wan and drawn than he actually was. _Or_, Roy reflected bitterly, _it's actually improving his color_.

When an exhausted Ling had carried Edward out of the blaze, it had been assumed at first that Edward was dead. Not even in the slightest hint of color had touched his slumped body. Roy had seen him very little since then.

"Alphonse doesn't know," Edward spoke up. Roy's shoulders bowed at the deadness of his voice. "I don't want him to know."

"Of course," Roy agreed softly. He had wanted to become Fuhrer to prevent any more grief caused by the actions of the military, particularly its state alchemists. Looking at Edward, he knew he had been too slow.

Edward cleared his throat a little. "I'm going to tell Granny. She deserves to know. She used to be drinking buddies with him." The blond had to close his eyes for a moment, and Roy dutifully looked away again. "Alphonse. . . . The only thing Alphonse knows about him is that he abandoned Mom and vanished. He'll be happier like that."

An acquiescing nod before Roy sat in the lone chair by Edward's bed. Very gently, he reached out and took Ed's hand. The bandages on his palms felt odd and obstructing, but Roy ignored it. Ed was allowing the gesture.

"Alphonse doesn't remember him, but I do," Edward whispered. "Why couldn't he just stop? None of this . . . it didn't have to—" He shook his head roughly, and Roy lightly squeezed, taking care not to jar his own wounds.

"I know," he whispered, recalling the horrified face of Wrath's adopted son. "I know."

Edward stared at him, lashes unabashedly wet. "Yeah. I know you do."

How could one simple phrase from Edward Elric reassure him when nothing else could? Hughes' face flashed through his mind, and his smile felt a little realer.

Edward's laugh surprised him a little. "It was stupid, but when I originally started this damned quest, I had always imagined going back home with Al, helping him recover, living out the rest of our lives there. For years, I had thought that was our plan. But it's not anymore." Edward grinned at him, a pale shadow of his former cocky grins.

Roy's mouth dried. "I suppose you can't. The Fullmetal Alchemist can't simply vanish, no matter what the excuse. The gossip is already tying our names together concerning Wrath's death."

Edward stared at him. To Roy's relief, his eyes were a little clearer. "It's all your fault, you know. If it wasn't for you, we could already be long gone." Roy raised an eyebrow, recalling Ed's near-death condition earlier, but Edward plunged on. "That means Alphonse's health is your responsibility until he gets back on his feet. No more shitty motels for my brother."

Why didn't he see that coming? "Of course," Roy agreed graciously. "Anything else?"

Edward fell silent for a moment, gaze distant. Then he smirked a little. "I could be a consort right now to the future emperor of Xing. Make my damned decision worth it."

Roy stared disbelievingly at him, noting the pale cheeks, shaky lips, and too sharp eyes. Edward smirked at him, but he didn't show his teeth, didn't flash his eyes. Roy squeezed Ed's hand, uncaring of his own burns. It hurt, but it was worth it to see those skinny shoulders relax. "No problem," he retorted, slight boasting coloring his words. Daringly, he raised Edward's hand to his chapped lips. Edward stopped him before contact.

"And if you even try to treat me like one of the girls from that damned black book," Edward continued pleasantly, "I'll finish what Wrath started."

_Walk forward. Walk forward._

"Never," Roy retorted easily, sliding off the chair. Edward watched him limp to the door. "I'll see you in the morning."

_Just pick yourself back up. _

"Whatever. Night, bastard."

_And walk forward._

As Roy returned to his own hospital room, uncaring of the curious eyes that followed him, he wondered if he had helped banish Hohenheim's face just a little bit from Edward's mind, even if he could do nothing about the blood on his hands. He remembered the flickering gold in those worn eyes and hoped he had.

If nothing else, the memory of holding Edward's right, flesh hand in his own would help him sleep better through the night.


End file.
